“Do you think so?” said Mercedes. These words were uttered in so mournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape Albert; he felt his heart beat, and taking his mother’s hand within his own he said, tenderly, —
“Yes, you will live!”
“I shall live! — then you will not leave me, Albert?”
“Mother, I must go,” said Albert in a firm, calm voice; “you love me too well to wish me to remain useless and idle with you; besides, I have signed.”
“You will obey your own wish and the will of heaven!”
“Not my own wish, mother, but reason — necessity. Are we not two despairing creatures? What is life to you? — Nothing. What is life to me? — Very little without you, mother; for believe me, but for you I should have ceased to live on the day I doubted my father and renounced his name. Well, I will live, if you promise me still to hope; and if you grant me the care of your future prospects, you will redouble my strength. Then I will go to the governor of Algeria; he has a royal heart, and is essentially a soldier; I will tell him my gloomy story. I will beg him to turn his eyes now and then towards me, and if he keep his word and interest himself for me, in six months I shall be an officer, or dead. If I am an officer, your fortune is certain, for I shall have money enough for both, and, moreover, a name we shall both be proud of, since it will be our own. If I am killed — well then mother, you can also die, and there will be an end of our misfortunes.”
“It is well,” replied Mercedes, with her eloquent glance; “you are right, my love; let us prove to those who are watching our actions that we are worthy of compassion.”
“But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions,” said the young man; “I assure you we are, or rather we shall be, very happy. You are a woman at once full of spirit and resignation; I have become simple in my tastes, and am without passion, I hope. Once in service, I shall be rich — once in M. Dantes’ house, you will be at rest. Let us strive, I beseech you, — let us strive to be cheerful.”
“Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy, Albert.”
“And so our division is made, mother,” said the young man, affecting ease of mind. “We can now part; come, I shall engage your passage.”
“And you, my dear boy?”
“I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom ourselves to parting. I want recommendations and some information relative to Africa. I will join you again at Marseilles.”
“Well, be it so — let us part,” said Mercedes, folding around her shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and which accidentally happened to be a valuable black cashmere. Albert gathered up his papers hastily, rang the bell to pay the thirty francs he owed to the landlord, and offering his arm to his mother, they descended the stairs. Some one was walking down before them, and this person, hearing the rustling of a silk dress, turned around. “Debray!” muttered Albert.
“You, Morcerf?” replied the secretary, resting on the stairs. Curiosity had vanquished the desire of preserving his incognito, and he was recognized. It was, indeed, strange in this unknown spot to find the young man whose misfortunes had made so much noise in Paris.
“Morcerf!” repeated Debray. Then noticing in the dim light the still youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf: —“Pardon me,” he added with a smile, “I leave you, Albert.” Albert understood his thoughts. “Mother,” he said, turning towards Mercedes, “this is M. Debray, secretary of the minister for the interior, once a friend of mine.”
“How once?” stammered Debray; “what do you mean?”
“I say so, M. Debray, because I have no friends now, and I ought not to have any. I thank you for having recognized me, sir.” Debray stepped forward, and cordially pressed the hand of his interlocutor. “Believe me, dear Albert,” he said, with all the emotion he was capable of feeling, —“believe me, I feel deeply for your misfortunes, and if in any way I can serve you, I am yours.”